dk.intensity-第15部分

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　sweet　greenness　of　the　heavily　timbered　hills　behind　him；　detects　the　crisp　scent　of　oning　rain；　smells　the　ozone　of　lightning　bolts　not　yet　hurled；　breathes　in　the　pungent　fear　of　small　animals　that　already　quake　in　the　fields　and　forests　in　anticipation　of　the　storm。
　After　she　was　certain　that　he　had　left　the　motor　home；　Chyna　crept　forward　through　the　vehicle；　holding　the　butcher　knife　in　front　of　her。
　The　windows　in　the　dining　area　and　the　lounge　were　curtained；　so　she　was　not　able　to　see　what　lay　outside。　At　the　front；　however；　the　windshield　revealed　that　they　had　stopped　at　a　service　station。
　She　had　no　idea　where　the　killer　was。　He　had　left　no　more　than　a　minute　earlier。　He　might　be　outside；　within　a　few　feet　of　the　door。
　She　hadn't　heard　him　removing　the　gas　cap　or　jacking　the　pump　nozzle　into　the　tank。　But　from　the　way　they　were　parked；　fuel　was　evidently　taken　on　board　from　the　starboard　side；　so　that　was　most　likely　where　he　would　be。
　Reluctant　to　proceeced　without　knowing　his　exact　whereabouts；　but　even　more　afraid　to　remain　in　the　motor　home；　she　slipped　into　the　driver's　seat。　The　headlights　were　off；　and　the　instrument　panel　was　dark；　but　there　was　enough　backglow　from　the　dining　nook　lamp　to　make　her　supremely　visible　from　outside。
　At　the　next　island；　a　Pontiac　pulled　away　from　the　pumps。　Its　red　taillights　swiftly　dwindled。
　As　far　as　she　could　see；　the　motor　home　was　now　the　only　vehicle　at　the　station。
　The　keys　weren't　in　the　ignition。　She　wouldn't　have　tried　to　drive　off　anyway。　That　had　been　an　option　back　in　the　vineyard；　when　there　had　been　no　help　nearby。　Here；　there　must　be　employees…and　whoever　pulled　off　the　highway　next。
　She　cracked　the　door；　wincing　at　the　hard　sound；　jumped　out；　and　stumbled　when　she　hit　the　ground。　The　butcher　knife　popped　from　her　hand　as　if　greased；　clattered　against　the　pavement；　and　spun　away。
　Certain　that　she　had　drawn　the　killer's　attention　and　that　he　was　already　bearing　down　on　her；　Chyna　scrambled　to　her　feet。　She　spun　left；　then　right；　with　her　hands　out　in　front　of　her　in　pathetic　defense。　But　the　eater　of　spiders　was　nowhere　to　be　seen　on　the　brightly　lighted　blacktop。
　She　pressed　the　door　shut；　searched　the　surrounding　pavement　for　the　knife；　couldn't　immediately　spot　it…and　froze　when　a　man　came　out　of　the　station　about　fifty　or　sixty　feet　away。　He　was　wearing　a　long　coat；　so　at　first　Chyna　was　sure　that　he　couldn't　be　the　killer；　but　then　immediately　she　recalled　the　inexplicable　rustling　of　fabric　to　which　she　had　listened　before　he　had　left　the　motor　home；　and　she　knew。
　The　only　place　to　hide　was　behind　one　of　the　pumps　at　the　next　service　island；　but　that　was　thirty　feet　away；　between　her　and　the　store；　with　a　lot　of　bright　exposed　pavement　to　cross。　Besides；　he　was　approaching　the　same　island　from　the　other　side；　and　he　would　reach　it　first；　catching　her　in　the　open。
　If　she　tried　to　get　around　the　motor　home；　he　would　spot　her　and　wonder　where　she　had　e　from。　His　psychosis　probably　included　a　measure　of　paranoia；　and　he　would　assume　that　she　had　been　in　his　vehicle。　He　would　pursue　her。　Relentlessly。
　Instead；　even　as　she　saw　him　leaving　the　store；　Chyna　dropped　flat　to　the　pavement。　Counting　on　the　obstructing　pumps　at　the　first　island　to　mask　any　movement　close　to　the　ground；　she　crawled　on　her　belly　under　the　motor　home。
　The　killer　didn't　cry　out；　didn't　pick　up　his　pace。　He　hadn't　seen　her。　From　her　hiding　place；　she　watched　him　approach。　As　he　drew　close；　the　sulfurous　light　was　so　bright　that　she　could　recognize　his　black　leather　boots　as　the　same　pair　that　she　had　studied　from　beneath　the　guest…room　bed　a　couple　of　hours　before。
　She　turned　her　head　to　follow　him　as　he　went　around　the　back　of　the　motor　home　to　the　starboard　side；　where　he　stopped　at　one　of　the　pumps。
　The　blacktop　was　cold　against　her　thighs；　belly；　and　breasts。　It　leached　the　body　heat　out　of　her　through　her　jeans　and　cotton　sweater；　and　she　began　to　shiver。
　She　listened　as　the　killer　disengaged　the　hose　spout　from　the　nozzle　boot；　opened　the　fuel　port　on　the　side　of　the　motor　home；　and　removed　the　tank　cap。　She　figured　it　would　take　a　few　minutes　to　fill　the　behemoth；　so　she　began　to　ease　out　of　her　hiding　place　even　as　she　heard　the　spout　thunk　into　the　tank。
　Still　flat　at　ground　level；　she　suddenly　saw　the　butcher　knife。　Out　on　the　blacktop。　Ten　feet　from　the　front　bumper。　The　yellow　light　glimmered　along　the　cutting　edge。
　Even　as　she　was　sliding　into　the　open；　however；　before　she　could　push　to　her　feet；　she　heard　boot　heels　on　blacktop。　She　glanced　back　under　the　motor　home　and　saw　that　the　killer　evidently　had　fixed　the　nozzle　trigger　in　place　with　the　regulator　clip；　because　he　was　on　the　move　again。
　Frantically　and　as　silently　as　possible；　she　retreated　beneath　the　vehicle　once　more。　She　could　hear　gasoline　sloshing　into　the　fuel　tank。
　The　killer　walked　forward　along　the　starboard　side；　around　the　front；　to　the　driver's　door。　But　he　didn't　open　the　door。　He　paused。　Very　still。　Then　he　walked　to　the　butcher　knife；　stooped；　and　picked　it　up。
　Chyna　held　her　breath；　though　it　seemed　impossible　that　the　killer　could　intuit　the　meaning　of　the　knife。　He'd　never　seen　it　before。　He　couldn't　know　that　it　had　e　from　the　Templeton　house。　Although　it　was　indisputably　odd　to　find　a　butcher　knife　lying　on　a　servicestation　approach　lane；　it　might　have　fallen　out　of　any　vehicle　that　had　passed　through。
　With　the　knife；　he　returned　to　the　motor　home　and　climbed　inside；　leaving　the　driver's　door　open　behind　him。
　Over　Chyna's　head；　the　footsteps　on　the　steel　floor　were　as　hollow　as　voodoo　drums。　As　best　she　could　tell；　he　stopped　in　the　dining　area。
　Vess　isn't　prone　to　see　omens　and　portents　everywhere　he　looks。　A　single　hawk　flying　across　the　face　of　the　full　moon；　glimpsed　at　midnight；　will　not　fill　him　with　expectations　of　either　disaster　or　good　fortune。　A　black　cat　crossing　his　path；　a　mirror　shattering　while　his　reflection　is　captured　in　it；　a　news　story　about　the　birth　of　a　two…headed　calfnone　of　these　things　will　rattle　him。　He　is　convinced　that　he　makes　his　own　fate　and　that　spiritual　transcendence…if　such　a　thing　can　happen…ensues　merely　from　one's　acting　boldly　and　living　with　intensity。
　Nevertheless；　the　large　butcher　knife　makes　him　wonder。　It　has　a　totemic　quality；　an　almost　magical　aura。　He　carefully　places　it　on　the　counter　in　the　kitchen；　where　the　light　lays　a　wet　sheen　along　the　weapon's　cutting　edge。
　When　he　picked　it　off　the　blacktop；　the　blade　had　been　cold　but　the　handle　had　been　vaguely　warm；　as　if　with　the　anticipatory　heat　of　his　grip。
　Eventually　he　will　experiment　with　this　strangely　discarded　blade　to　determine　if　anything　special　happens　when　he　cuts　someone　with　it。　At　the　moment；　however；　it　doesn't　provide　him　with　the　advantage　that　he　needs　for　the　work　at　hand。
　He　has　the　Heckler　&　Koch　P7　snug　in　the　right…hand　pocket　of　his　raincoat；　but　he　doesn't　feel　that　even　it　is　adequate　to　the　situation。
　The　two　lads　behind　the　cashiers'　counter　are　not　in　the　war　zone　of　a　big…city　7…Eleven　market；　but　they　are　smart　enough　to　take　precautions。　Not　even　Beverly　Hills　and　Bel　Air；　peopled　by　wealthy　actors　and　retired　football　stars；　are　any　longer　safe　at　night　either　for　or　from　their　citizens。　These　fellows　will　have　a　firearm　for　self…　protection　and　will　know　how　to　use　it。　Dealing　with　them　will　require　an　intimidating　weapon　with　formidable　stopping　power。
　He　opens　a　cabinet　to　the　left　of　the　oven。　A　Mossberg　shortbarreled；　pistol…grip；　pump…action；　12…gauge　shotgun　is　mounted　in　a　pair　of　spring　clamps　on　the　shelf。　He　pops　it　loose　of　the　clamps　and　lays　it　on　the　countertop。
　The　magazine　tube　of　the12…gauge　is　already　loaded。　Although　he　doesn't　belong　to　the　American　Automobile　Association；　Edgler　Vess　is　otherwise　always　prepared　for　any　eventuality　when　he　travels。
　In　the　cabinet　is　a　box　of　shotgun　shells；　open　for　easy　access。　He　takes　a　few　and　puts　them　on　the　counter　next　to　the　Mossberg；　though　he　is　not　likely　to　need　them。
　He　quickly　unbuttons　the　raincoat　but　doesn't　take　it　off。　He　transfers　the　pistol　from　his　right…hand　exterior　pocket　to　an　interior；　right…hand　breast　pocket　in　the　lining。　This　is　also　where　he　places　the　spare　shells。
　From　a　kitchen　drawer；　he　withdraws　a　pact　Polaroid　camera。
　He　tucks　it　into　the　pocket　from　which　he　just　removed　the　Heckler　&　Koch　P7。　From　his　wallet；　he　removes　a　trimmed　Polaroid　snapshot　of　his　special　girl；　Ariel；　and　he　slips　it　into　the　same　pocket　that　contains　the　camera。
　With　his　seven…inch　switchblade；　which　is　tacky　from　all　the　work　for　which　it　was　used　at　the　Templeton　house；　he　slashes　the　lining　of　the　left　coat　pocket。　Then　he　rips　away　these　tattered　fragments　of　fabric。　Now；　if　he　were　to　drop　coins　into　this　pocket；　they　would　fall　straight　to　the　floor。
　He　puts　the　shotgun　under　his　open　coat　and　holds　it　with　his　left　hand；　through　the　ruined　pocket。　The　concealment　is　effective。　He　does　not　believe　that　he　looks　at　all　suspicious。
　He　quickly　paces　back　to　the　bedroom；　then　forward；　practicing　his　walk。　He　is　able　to　move　freely　without　banging　the　shotgun　against　his　legs。
　After　all；　he　can　draw　upon　the　nimbleness　and　the　grace　of　the　spider　from　the　Templeton　house。
　Although　he　doesn't　care　what　damage　he　does　to　the　birthmarked　cashier　with　the　ashen　eyes；　he'll　have　to　be　careful　not　to　destroy　the　face　of　the　young　Asian　gentleman。　He　must　have　good　photographs　for　Ariel。
　Overhead；　the　killer　seemed　to　be　occupied　in　the　dining　area。　The　floor　creaked　under　him　as　he　shifted　his　weight。
　Unless　he　had　drawn　open　the　curtains；　he　couldn't　see　outside　from　where　he　was。　With　luck；　Chyna　could　make　a　break　for　freedom。
　She　considered　remaining　under　the　vehicle；　letting　him　tank　up；　and　drive　away；　and　only　then　going　inside　to　call　the　police。
　But　he　had　tound　the　butcher　knife；　he　would　be　thinking　about　it。　Though　she　could　see　no　way　that　he　could　grasp　the　significance　of　the　knife；　by　now　she　had　an　almost　superstitious　dread　of　him　and　was　irrationally　convinced　that　he　would　find　her　if　she　remained　where　she　was。
　She　crawled　out　from　under　the　motor　home；　ro